


Another Bad Day

by Commanderhotpantsu



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Violence, Werewolf AU, Werewolves, were!bert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:11:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1358677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Commanderhotpantsu/pseuds/Commanderhotpantsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertholdt is a isolated monster, cast aside by society for his "condition": turning into a wolf at any given time. But what happens when a hunter finds him in the woods one night and the strange man doesn't consider him a monster- even under all of his layers of fur?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Just Another Bad Day

No matter what village Bertholdt travels to, it will always be the same. He’ll manage his way into a small rural village and pretend to be a traveller looking for a more permanent home. Cautiously, he’ll meet a couple of villagers; and if he’s lucky, worm his way into a social environment for a few weeks at most.

But things never change; Come the last weeks of the moon cycle, he loses control one way or another.  
Sometimes it’s a few canines poking out of his lips more then they should. Maybe his nails grow longer and his ears shape into a fine tip at their (supposed to be) rounded cartilage and raise some suspicion. The worst is when a full-blown shift catches him off-guard. It’s happened a few times, even when the sun sits high in the sky and he’s surrounded by people. Those were the worst hunts he’s experienced, the hunters twice as angry and twice as determined to catch him because he had openly shifted so close to their families.

He also has a terrible habit that he’s convinced will get him shot one day: he thinks a lot while he’s running.  
It mostly pertains to one thought in particular though. As he’s running away, he frequently repeats to himself : ‘Today was just a bad day’. But when bad days turn into bad weeks, bad months, bad years and eventually bad decades, you begin to lose hope. Some nights you can only look forward to finding a pile of dry moss and leaves and hope for tomorrow to bring something good. Though he’s not sure what he’s hoping for. Better weather? More food to scavenge? For someone to accept him for who he was? Claws and fur included.

Luck is also something he severely lacks, apparently. It’s early spring and the cold bite of winter is still in the mountains; rain is becoming more frequent in the forests as well. He could tell tonight would be cold and now wet on top of that. He might even have to sleep in his dire state tonight if it gets bad enough. Though, as ironic as it was, the rain was the reason he had survived the chase. The villagers had given up catching him after the weather turned sour, saying it wasn’t worth getting sick over a monster like him.

But for now he needed to worry about finding shelter for tonight, so Bertholdt trots up a hill towards a large slate of exposed rock along a nearby mountain. If he recalls correctly, there should be a cave along the wall that (he hopes) is still empty to spend the night in. It’s nearing nightfall so he needs to hurry unless he wants to go searching for it blind. As he’s searching, he rushes by some brush a little too closely and the branches scrape at some fresh cuts from the chase he had just escaped. He whines lowly and glances at the cuts, debating cleaning them now, but he’ll have to wait until he’s sheltered somewhere.  
He sniffs at the ground with purpose now, searching quickly for any nearby animals that could give him trouble. He’s also searching for that distinct smell of mold and bedrock for shelter. Smelling no animals nearby, Bertholdt’s paws trample the muddy ground a little quicker, finally catching the scent of the cave he recalled.

Huffing loudly in relief, he trots a little farther north and cautiously approaches the mouth of a small cave tucked between two large rocks in a hill-face. He sniffs the air again but finds nothing but the smell of fresh rain and mud. Deeming it safe, Bertholdt approaches the entrance slowly, his paranoia making him take his time in case anything decides to say hello. His large form barely fits into the small cave, but he pushes his way inside before he can finally start to decompress. He feels his fur struggle to fit back into his human-sized follicles and his features shrink farther into his normal shape. His high-pitched whines turn to low groans from the pain of his bones breaking and re-shaping into smaller ones under his skin. Audible cracking can be heard for a minute until it stops completely and silence envelopes the cave again. Bertholdt pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his shins. His head flops onto his forearms dramatically as he attempts to catch his breath. A thin layer of sweat chills his usually over-heated skin, but he huddles in on himself closer to preserve heat for the night to come.

'I wish I had grabbed clothes.' Bertholdt regrets. Shifting typically left him exposed, considering his clothes just peel off of him immediately as his body expands or they tear off mid-chase, unable to adjust to his larger body's movements. Reminded of any danger, Bertholdt moves further into the cave to avoid anything or anyone that may pass by the cave. As the sun sets, the darkness surrounds his senses and he finds he can relax more and more. His spine loses it's tension and he practically melts against the cave's walls.

Some luck had been passed to him today he supposes; he got away with only a few scratches this time, no gunshots to tend to or bear traps to pry off his legs. He thinks about tending to his scratches briefly, but dismisses the thought. They’re really minor scratches from branches whipping his legs and shoulders. He’ll have to wait for his eyes to adjust before that anyway, you can’t heal wounds you can’t see and he’ll look for medicinal herbs tomorro-

A sound at the mouth of the cave shocks Bertholdt out of his thoughts. Soft scuffling against rock could be heard in front of him. Bertholdt stiffens and listens harder. The footsteps, as he determines, approach slowly, one careful step after another. He silently scoots his tall build farther into the cave. No way did he want to be seen, not like this. Holding his breath, he keeps retreating, straining his ears for signs of threat; the scuffling did grow closer, but it did not break out into a run and there were no sounds of any weapons being unsheathed. Someone or something was coming into the cave though.

'Quiet, steady, breathe slow.' was the mantra Bertholdt found himself repeating in his head as he backed up.  
Until his hand slipped on a few rocks.

He froze in panic. A rock clattered noisily as it rolled away from him on the stone floor. Everything went silent as it stopped, even the scuffling of the intruder from before. His heart was running away in his chest, clouding his ears with his erratic heartbeat. Barely audible over his pounding heart, he hears:

 

“Hello?” echo through the cave.  
A person. A person had entered the cave. He felt some tension leave his body, knowing it wasn’t a bear or a mountain lion that had decided to take residence with him. Still, even if it was a person, it’s still a threat to him. Bertholdt couldn’t force any words out to respond, his jaw locked in place. The shuffling could be heard again, along with rustling until a warm light flooded the mouth of the cave. He could make out a human-shaped figure behind the light.

“Hello?” The voice repeated and swung the lamp around him. Their voice was low and throaty, a little panic warbled their tone. It was an older male from the sounds of it, and Bertholdt whispered stupidly, without thinking: “Hunter.” He clapped his hands over his mouth. God, he was such an idiot.

The man must have heard it because he immediately spoke up: “Who’s there?!”

The light grew brighter as the man approached where he assumed he heard Bertholdt’s whisper. All nerves in Bertholdt’s body coiled tight like a spring. Run. You should run. Every instinct in him screamed at him to shift; but that would cause more trouble then anything at this point; he could scare this man and convince him to kill Bertholdt.

Apparently his body had other plans though. He could feel hair on his arms and legs thicken and he felt his ears starting to point at the ends. This was not the time, no. 

 

The halo of light from the lamp reaches the end of his toes and stops, the man obviously seeing that someone is there with him. Bertholdt freezes, not moving a muscle and stares hard into the darkness behind the light of the lamp. He makes out a pair of sharp eyes, equally peering into the darkness. His eyes are golden like honey and seemingly pierce through Bertholdt. He swears their eyes meet through the haze of the darkness but he seemed to have been mistaken. Visibly stiff, the man pulls the lantern away and turns on his heels toward the exit of the cave. Bertholdt must have scared the man, though he doesn’t know how. I suppose seeing a naked stranger huddling in a cave somewhere would just about scare any ordinary person. Then again Bertholdt wasn’t an ordinary person, so he couldn’t know for sure.

The man doesn’t completely leave the cave, however, and Bertholdt watches the lamp-light drift to the very mouth of the cave. He sees the man set the lamp on the floor and sits down next to it, looking out he cave as the rain pours down. It streams over the lip of the entrance, looking like a serene waterfall. He wasn’t sure how long the man sat with him in the dark. Bertholdt’s adrenaline wore off within an hour and exhaustion set in soon after, causing his eyelids to flutter shut occasionally. His eyes were trained on the man’s back the entire time he was awake though, expecting him to get up and walk over to Bertholdt and slit his throat just like the animal Bertholdt was. Overtime the paranoia soon turned to wariness then to nothing. A sort of relaxing feeling came over him. With this stranger at the mouth of the cave he felt he could relax; he felt that he was being protected in a way, like this man would be kind to him and guard over him as he slept. But with a bitterness he never knew he had in him, he vehemently denied that possibility. Though this man doesn’t know, he’s sharing space with a monster. He could surely sense this simple fact, so there’s no way he would protect someone like him. Bertholdt’s eyelids slipped shut for a final time.

Before his lids blanketed his eyes for sleep he thought he saw the man’s back turn towards him, throwing him a look over his shoulder. ‘Maybe he will end my misery while I’m asleep.’ he internally weighed. The thought wasn’t unwelcome to Bertholdt.  
When he woke again, the cave was bright with warm mid-day light. In his sleep Bertholdt seemed to have squished his body further into his corner with his back facing the mouth of the cave. He tended to move a lot in his sleep, so this was not an uncommon occurrence. Slowly turning to look over his shoulder, he noticed no one was in the cave with him anymore. The silent silhouette who looked like a guardian statue had vacated, leaving Bertholdt alone once more. He thought for sure he would have been dead by morning, but it seems he was having better luck then usual for once.

Deciding it was finally time to rise-and-shine he removed himself from the warm spot he had created on the stone floor and shuffled his way to the mouth of the cave. Due to his height he had to bend slightly to fit though the small size of the cave, but if he hadn’t had to bend over he surely would have missed the pile of clothes that sat neatly folded at his feet.


	2. A Chance Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of bad luck and even worse circumstances.

The next time he comes into human contact again is more then a week after his run-in with the man in his cave. He had gratefully worn the clothes that the strange protector had given him that night. There was only a shirt and pants in the small bundle that was left for him, but he couldn’t complain. They were woolen and warm, definitely helping him against the cold nights for the past week, but a lot baggier then he anticipated. He lifted his arms up and observed how the shirt floated around him in the breeze, obviously two sizes too wide, and just short enough to expose his belly. The pants also hung comically loose around his waist, so Bertholdt mostly had to walk around holding his pants up while in his human form.

However, the clothes were currently sitting in a bush by the same cave they had encountered each other. Bertholdt had decided to dwell in it for the time being, seeing as he had no where to go. He would be lying if he didn’t say he was hoping to run across the stranger again somehow, too. To at least thank him for the clothes he was given (and a chance to live given the situation).  
Bertholdt pushed his thoughts to the back of his head though. He needed to concentrate.

Today was his hunting day. His trip had to be successful or he would soon starve. He was too soft-hearted to kill any more often then 2 days a week. He had to do it to survive, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it, contrary to belief of some villagers.

To kill animals, however, he usually had to force a shift in the middle of the day. He would hunt in his usual form, but his tall stature always made it so difficult to stalk animals. Usually his height gave him away visually before even nearing prey. Not to mention he was usually clumsy.

It’s quiet in the forest today; Hardly any birds are chirping and only a few squirrels could be heard quarreling in the trees. Usually you could hear flocks of birds everywhere, filtering chirps throughout the forest and calling to one another but it was still early spring, so he wasn’t disturbed by their absence. It was barely evening with the sun still fairly high in the sky, so he guesses it’s maybe 3 o’clock. He’s been out in the forest since early morning by now. Due to it still being early in the season, not a lot of prey was around for him to hunt, making this a lot more difficult. After finding nothing earlier in the day, he finally settled for patiently waiting in shrubbery by a small open clearing in the forest. He went from an attentive stance to eventually relaxing and hunching over, still keeping an eye out for any animals. Looking around, he praises his good taste of hunting locations; Tall grasses and ivy sprung everywhere within the clearing, perfect to attract animals who are looking for a quick meal. After 30 minutes of waiting, a doe finally tip-toes into the clearing.

He watches intently as the doe cautiously steps into the ring of open foliage, flicking it’s ears and watching for any signs of movement; He keeps absolutely still. It finally takes a few steps forward, heading for a patch of ivy to Bertholdt’s right. It was so quiet. Any remaining birds from earlier ceased their titters and the usual crickets had stopped chirping as well. It’s as if the forest was holding it’s breath from him. Waiting. The doe lowered it’s head into the foliage, blocking it’s vision temporarily. Bertholdt decided to make his move.

Making sure he was absolutely silent, he crept up from behind, paw over paw, flattening his hulking form closer to the ground. Deer were so hard to catch by himself, not because of their superior minds, deer were quite stupid creatures, actually. But their highly sensitive hearing and cautious tendencies made them easy to spook. In a pack effort, they’re easy to hunt down, but on your own they’re quite difficult to catch. Unless you had a gun. But he doesn’t; he’s never been fond of them.  
He digs his hind legs into the dirt, digging his claws in for traction, gearing up. Pushing his legs back down into the Earth, he launches himself over the brush he hid behind, running full speed for the deer. His focus aimed straight for the doe’s jugular.  
He was halfway across the clearing when he hears the pop of a gunshot.

A searing pain rips through his shoulder, forcing a loud bark to echo through the clearing as he plummets to the ground from the shock. The doe, frightened by both the gunshot and his sudden appearance, takes one look at him and runs in the opposite direction, clearing over a fallen log and out of sight.

He curses his own stupidity. Of course there were hunters in this part of forest, he had just escaped them just a week ago. He tries to gather enough strength to haul himself up quickly. Slowly standing on his four legs, his breathing grows heavy. He needed to get away now before the hunter came to kill him for making his prize escape.

Bertholdt turns to limp away to the shadows of the large trees when he froze. Maybe 15 feet away a hunter was crouched against a tree, his golden eyes wide as he stared at Bertlholdt’s massive black form. His heart gives a few more heavy thuds of horror, then he runs. He runs as if the devil himself was at his heels. His right arm feels as if it was going to fall off or sear off, he wasn’t so sure. He feels his blood running down his shoulder and onto his bicep, matting in his fur. A distinct copper-y smell of blood fills his nostrils and makes his eyes water. Such an idiot. One blunder after the next.

He couldn’t kick himself now though. He has to get rid of his company first.

Bertholdt was right to assume the hunter would chase him: obviously they were pissed that he had come along and made him miss their shot. He could clearly hear the romping of heavy boots and the breaths of another presence just behind him. Darting right, he takes on a zig-zag pattern, attempting to lose the hunter, but to no avail. This person was light on their feet, following Bertholdt’s moves perfectly, ducking under low branches and hopping over large rocks like it was nothing. Bertholdt was impressed, he had to say.

The world grew a little fuzzier at the edges the longer he ran; the blood loss from the wound was now making him light headed. His adrenaline spiked so high didn’t allow him to realize this until now. He had to get back to the cave, or he’ll pass out soon.  
If he remembers correctly, there’s a patch of dense trees a few yards away. Maybe he can lose them in there. Bertholdt hangs a sharp right and heads East towards a row of towering treetops in the distance.

 

This hunter wouldn’t give up, still following Bertholdt through the rough terrain underfoot. He couldn’t help but notice that this hunter was barely out of breath, just mildly panting and just beginning to grunt at the exertion of hopping over fallen logs and rocks. Even over the uneven and hilly terrain they stuck through it, pushing their two legs to keep up with his four. Before realizing it, Bertholdt finally reaches the thick patch of trees and the darkness of the shadows beneath them envelopes him. He thanked his black fur for being it’s dark shade, because he immediately starts to blend in.

He hears the hunter follow him into the trees. Now was his chance to escape while their eyes were still adjusting to the sudden darkness. Skidding to a halt, he ducks left and slinks behind a tree. He holds his breath in silence for a bit until his hearing catches the hunter’s thundering footsteps rush by him. He lets go the breath he was holding, heavily slumping against the tree when he was sure it was safe.

As the adrenaline faded from his veins, he slowly shifted back into his hairless and lanky form. His body had exhausted itself from the chase and he couldn’t stay shifted any longer without the help of the moon. His breathing regulates and he thinks he is going to melt into the tree against his back. Slipping his eyes shut, he tries to relax and calm his thudding heart, the more he relaxed though, the more he feels the gunshot wound. He looks down to his shoulder and winces as he inspects the damage. It looked like the bullet was still lodged in his shoulder, which would be a hassle to remove later. The skin was open and raw with some muscle visible, but mostly all you could see was a hole where blood was still faintly trickling out. He could maybe heal after a few days of resting after the bullet was removed, but there was still the dilemma of finding food before that. Maybe there are some berries he could find to eat on the way back to the cave, or if he’s lucky, some edible mushrooms. Thinking about food forced him to realize just how hungry he was and as if on cue, his stomach growls loudly. A little too loudly.

A twig snaps behind him and he doesn’t have time to draw in a breath before he sees a broad form enter his peripheral vision. He sees the hunter step slowly from behind the tree. The butt of the gun he held was jammed into his shoulder, and he was ready to take aim and fire at any moment. He was almost as tall as Bertholdt, but what he lacked in height he made up in muscle. His broad shoulders made him look larger then life, and his arms looked like he could snap whole logs in half with a flex of his biceps, evident even under his thick clothing. Due to the long winter this year, his skin looked like alabaster from the lack of sunlight, but the sharp features of his face stood out the most; His nose was straight and slightly bent towards the bridge, like it had been broken in the past, but not in an unattractive way. His eyes matched his nose as they were narrow and sharp like an eagles with honey-colored irises that seemed to glow in the low light of the forest. His hair was covered by a huntsman cap, but Bertholdt could tell it was bleach blonde and cropped very short. This man’s presence was intimidating to say the least, though the shotgun could be making it worse. Looking down the barrel of an old pump shot-gun for the second time in his life, Bertholdt couldn’t help his shaking. The hunter sidesteps in a wide circle around him slowly, eyes on him, watching him with caution until he stands in front of him.

Then he sees the hunters eyes flick between his wounded shoulder and his face, passing back and forth between the two. The scrutiny makes Bertholdt nervous, and he pulls his shoulder back and blocks the hunters inquiring eyes with his torso. The hunter snaps his piercing gaze back to his, as if he was telling him to stay still. He could only imagine what he looked like to this man; A shaking, naked, bloody lump on the floor of this great forest. He drops his eyes from the hunter and squeezes them shut in defeat. ‘Today was just a bad day.’ he muses internally, ’ a really bad day.’ For once he wishes he could shift again, but his body was too exhausted to, and it would only make his shoulder far worse by stretching the skin.

“You.” the hunter rumbles, getting his attention. Bertholdt looks up to meet his predators eyes again. “You’re the wolf, aren’t you? The wolf I shot on accident?” He sat there shell-shocked. How? How did he figure it out?

“I shot it in the shoulder.” he stated, answering my internal thoughts. “I didn’t hear any other shots in the forest except mine today, so there’s no other way you could’ve gotten that.” He nudges his gun to gesture to my shoulder. “Unless I had done it.”  
Bertholdts mouth goes dry and he don’t know what to say. Will his honesty save his life? Or will this hunters hatred for his kind guarantee him a one-way ticket to his own demise? Without thinking, he whispers a solemn.

“Yes.” the whisper came out hoarse and slow from both lack of use and his fear weighing his tongue down. The hunter stares at him for what seems like forever, without a doubt judging what his next move should be. Bertholdt refuses to meet his gaze during his decision, staring at the dirt floor, accepting the fate this man will hand him. The hunter lowers his gun and stands there for a moment. Bertholdt thought he was dreaming when the hunter reaches a hand out to him and offers Bertholdt assistance in getting up. He instinctively shrinks back, his left hand clutching the tree’s bark for an anchor.

 

“Why?” Bertholdt inquires.  
“Well, I can’t leave you out here to bleed to death from a wound I caused.” He shrugs nonchalantly. Bertholdt thought of only two things: one, this guy must be ridiculously nice. Or, he was absolutely crazy to assist one of his kind that had obviously chased away a meal and made him run to the ends of the forest to hunt him down.

With a great deal of hesitation, Bertholdt accepts the offered hand and stands shakily on his two thin legs. The hunter steps to his left, shouldering his weight on his good side and starts to slowly walk him towards the exit of the trees. Bertholdt couldn’t help steal a few glances at this strangers face as they made their way out of the forest. He swore the sharp honey eyes this man possessed looked familiar to him.


	3. A Warm Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting a bullet taken out of your shoulder really sucks.

Bertholdt didn't know where he was. Which was new to him. He was sure that he knew every inch of this forest by now. The hunter is helping him limp his way out of the thick forest and down a path he knew led away from the nearby village. With every drop of blood his body lost, his body grew more sluggish and clumsier. He felt bad for burdening this stranger with his deadweight, but with a bullet wound and empty stomach, his body couldn't fight his exhaustion any longer. Desperately, Bertholdt holds onto consciousness as he feels more blood slips down his arm.

The woods he knew were changed slowly. Underbrush grew thicker and the plant-life was bountiful and luscious. Tall grasses sprouted everywhere and trees were thicker and gnarled. The last rays of the sunset filtered through the trees, casting pools of light on their path. Some snow lingered on the ground in patches; a reminder of how winter still clung to the climate in higher areas.

Bertholdt would comment on the scenery for small-talk to this hunter if he wasn't struggling to breathe already, his gasping was loud and clogged his sensitive hearing.

“We're almost there, hold on a little bit longer, hairy.” the hunter assured him. He jostled Bertholdt higher on his shoulder to better support his weight. Bertholdt lets out a grunt of pain after and tries focuses harder on walking better to get his mind off of the pain and to (hopefully) get to their destination faster.

Another ten minutes of walking landed them on the door step of a small cabin set back from the path they were just walking along. 'This man must be a hermit.' Bertholdt thinks dryly. The hunter was so far away from any village Bertholdt knew of in the surrounding area. The hunter shuffles them over the threshold; Bertholdt hardly noticed him unlocking and shoving the door open from how dizzy he become. Warmth wrapped around him and seeped deep into his bones as they crawl further into the home. A violent shiver ran through him as his sweat soaked skin attempted to adjust to the new temperature of the cabin. 

“I'm going to set you by the fireplace while I go look for my 'aid kit, alright?” He informed Bertholdt, dragging his limp body through the dark interior. Bertholdt could hardly lift his head up, let alone respond; the world around him begins to get blurry. It was dark and he could barely make out the shapes of an old worn armchair and a battered old rug in the room the stranger led him into; he assumes they are in this man's living room. 

As gently as he could, the hunter lays him down onto the rug that was within feet of the fireplace. He feels his eyes flutter as an attempt to stay conscious with his head was resting on the old frayed fabric of the rug. His eyes follow the man's wide back as the hunter grabs a few hunks of wood swiftly from a basket next to the fireplace. He chucks them haphazardly over the remnants of a previous fire and begins blowing gently onto the ahses. After a few tries, the dying embers catch and small licks of flames slowly begin consuming the dry wood. Satisfied that the fire would soon light, the hunter turns and heads down a hall just to the right of the fireplace.

He hears the heavy tromps of boots against the wood floor and a few bumps and crashes from a distance. Bertholdt, needing a distraction from the pain, watches as the flames get larger and larger. Any log that was visible before was now swallowed whole by the comforting heat of the fire. Gradually, his body warms up and his shivering stops completely. He was blinking slowly, every pass of his eyelids over his eyes last longer until his eyes slide completely shut. His consciousness finally met it's match; The fire was too comforting and pleasant to resist.

\---------

Bertholdt's eyes snap open and a loud whine is ripped from his throat. A sharp pain numbs his brain for a second before a second shot of pain straightens his spine and arches his back. Startled and confused, he lurches his body away from the burning pain in his shoulder.

“Whoah! Hey- calm down! I've got to get this bullet out!” He feels a hand push him back down onto the rug and holds him in place. “You were just fine a minute ago- oh you're awake." The hunter pauses and flicks his eyes between Bertholdt's face and open would. He sighs before continuing. "Sorry, but i've got to finish the job. Hold out a bit longer, alright?" He pleads, looking genuinely sorry for it.

After processing for a minute, Bertholdt nods in consent. He clenches his eyes shut and whins again as the hunter gets back to work. Something digs into his arm, causing him to see white behind his eyelids for a moment. Through the haze of pain he wonders what he's even doing before he realizes the hunter is still searching around for the bullet that must be lodged in his shoulder. After an excruciating amount of time, the hunter lets out a huff of victory as he finds and plucks the bullet out. Bertholdt's body sags, thinking it was finally over. Bertholdt makes a move to sit up- 

Until the hunter pulls out a hefty looking needle and thread. 

“What are you going to do with that?” Bertholdt choks, eyeing the man wearily. 

“C'mon, you know I have to stitch this up. There's no way you can just go walking around with this gaping hole in your shoulder; it's going to get infected.” He scolds Bertholdt. He still looks at him cautiously, paying special attention to the needle trapped between his thick fingers.

“Relax, I know what I'm doing.” The hunter says confidently and gets out a small bottle of alcohol and some cotton swabs. Bertholdt lies back down onto the rug begrudgingly before the man begins cleaning his supplies and the skin around his wound. Bertholdt's only thought was that this was going to be a long night.

\---------

After a good half an hour of hissing and grunts of pain, the hunter finally manages to stitch up his wound properly- as appropriately as he could get with Bertholdt writhing in pain. The hunter laughed heartily and gave him a genuine smile when he was done. He said he was a good sport through all of it. 

The hunter helps Bertholdt sit up slowly and face the fire so he could cover his work with bandages. As he slowly winds the gauze over and under his arm and shoulder Bertholdt couldn't help but be slightly amused. Though this man was bulky and seemed strong enough to snap his neck in two, his hands were surprisingly gentle. After any hiss or any indication of discomfort, the hunter's hands grew gentler and avoided any sore spots. For the first time in what seemed like decades, he felt comfortable around a human's presence. He didn't fear that this man would turn around and attempt to hunt him or even try to kick him out of the forest surrounding them. He was lucky that he had even been taken care of. He was lucky to even be alive. If he was honest, Bertholdt could guess that he probably wouldn't have even lasted the night without this man's help.

“Thank you.” Bertholdt whispered, trying to convey how much all of this meant to him. It was more then just helping him out of duty or pity. This man must have been truly kind to willingly house and tend to a monster like him, to let him into his home and bleed onto his carpet, seeing and knowing full well what he was. God, he even ruined the carpet. He felt his eyes grow embarrassingly wet. A feeling of both guilt and gratitude clogs his throat.

He feels a small squeeze on his right shoulder. “You're welcome.” The man pauses, “The name's Reiner by the way.” 

“Reiner.” He let the man's name roll of his tongue.“My name is Bertholdt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these are so short! I just really prefer short chapters / _ \ I hope you enjoy though; and thank you for all of the wonderful comments and support!!
> 
> \------ = a bit of a time skip.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry guys! this is my first couple of attempts at writing something significant, but any feedback is welcome! you can also see any of my art for the story at commanderhotpantsu.tumblr.com/tagged/were!bert


End file.
